


Betrayal

by kethni



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Cheating, Dementia, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: For CrazyMaryT who was curious if Kent would ever cheat.I usually put the prompt here but that would give away major plot stuff.
Relationships: Kent Davison/Sue Wilson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For CrazyMaryT who was curious if Kent would ever cheat. 
> 
> I usually put the prompt here but that would give away major plot stuff.

The weather was entirely average for the time of year: a slight breeze, a few showers, and occasional patches of sun. Sue got out of her car and took a moment to orient herself. She hadn’t been here before, although she had received copious documentation and other communications from various staff members. That was her role in life: to be the person who was expected to deal with the dull administrative tasks of events that were in themselves dramatic or wrenchingly painful.

Her brother had found the place.

Her sister had conducted the transfer.

Sue had to sign the paperwork and arrange for the payments.

As she walked towards the door, she was reminded of her sister insisting that her job had been the most difficult. That _she_ was the one who had been sworn at and derided as heartless and a harridan. However, as Sue’s brother had pointed out, that was at least in part because she had taken such open delight in it.

It had to be admitted that, even with basic human decency, it was quite difficult not to feel some schadenfreude about the entire situation. Although Sue would have had the good manners not to admit that to their mother. She might be… _difficult_ , but there were somethings that one didn’t say. At least not to the person concerned. That was just tacky.

She could smell disinfectant. That seems like a somewhat positive sign. Cleanliness was at least the bare minimum one should expect.

A receptionist with a matronly pencil skirt and cotton blouse found the room number for Sue and gave her directions.

Sue walked past residents shuffling along in walkers or sat reading in strategically placed armchairs. The place was too quiet. She could hear the squeak of the walkers against the tile floors and the tapping of her stiletto heels. Music would be better. Too much quiet was as disturbing as too little. It made the feel like a morgue. As if this was where people came not to be healed or to be cared for but to die.

Her mother looked at her in the doorway and threw a shoe at her.

Sue caught the shoe and tossed it aside. ‘If that’s what you want,’ she said, and turned to leave.

‘Come back here!’ her mother demanded. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘I wish you didn’t.’

***

Sue stayed an hour, which was about an hour more than would have been ideal. Nonetheless, she had done her duty as a daughter and, in dropping off all the paperwork, her duty as the oldest child. Factoring in the drive here and how long it would take her to drive back, it was going to be almost an entire afternoon of her _extremely_ rare time off to be aggressed and sneered at by her mother.

‘You look much as I feel.’

She turned. She had heard the footsteps approaching, you could probably hear them three rooms away, but she hadn’t consciously registered that they were to quick for any of the residents and too loud for any of the staff’s rubber-soled shoes.

She hadn’t seen Kent in some time. Not even in the press since he had left Jonah’s employee. She had heard a dozen or more rumours, but none of them had involved serious pain or humiliation so she had paid little attention.

‘Hello, Kent.’

His hair had changed. It had once been fifty shades of grey but now seemed to be flying the white flag. Despite that he looked well. He looked relaxed in Timberlands, jeans, and a flannel shirt.

It was most annoying.

He smiled. It was genuine and friendly. That was annoying too. Especially when he asked if she’d like to get coffee and catch up.

Sue didn’t “catch up” with exes. Particularly exes who had shown the bad judgement to break up with _her_. Least of all with exes who then did not remove themselves entirely from her life and, preferably, the United States.

Nonetheless, she said yes. The afternoon was already a disaster so what did she have to lose at this point?

There was a coffee shop in the grounds. It wasn’t particularly good, but it did have the unique advantage of meaning they didn’t have to drive anywhere else. When a situation was already uncomfortable dragging it out was the last thing that she wanted.

She was uncomfortable. She was uncomfortable with his being there. She was uncomfortable with his smile and his easy conversation. He was never comfortable talking to her. Before they dated, he was awkward and nervous. While they dated, he was self-conscious. After they dated, he was tense. It was disorienting, listening to him make witty comments about the home and the coffee shop.

‘Are you still in the West Wing?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Someone has to be competent to keep the country from sliding into nuclear holocaust.’

He laughed at her and asked if she was sincerely suggesting that she was preventing the apocalypse. She said that someone had to, and he had already abandoned his position as only sane man in Selina’s employ. He didn’t seem to take it seriously. She was used to him always taking her seriously. To listening to every word as if he needed to unlock some puzzle.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘At the moment I’m mostly doing some script doctoring,’ he said.

It was not the answer she expected. She did vaguely remember him mentioning writing at some point. Romance novels seemed to be connected somehow, but surely “script doctoring” required a track record of being a talented writer? Nobody was even _making_ romance films so why would anyone need his input on them?

‘On movies?’ she asked, incredulously.

‘Mostly,’ he said. ‘Initially I was just consulting on political programming, details on how the West Wing works and the like, but one thing led to another. I enjoy writing and as I’m not responsible for the overall script I don’t take any blame for any problems.’

‘Surely anyone could do that?’ she asked. ‘There must be thousands of failed staffers and politicians littering the country.’

It didn’t work. He took no offense but instead laughed at her. Laughed at her implication that _he_ was a failed staffer.

‘Knowledge is plentiful,’ he said. ‘The ability to successfully communicate it is not. The ability to write creatively can be learned but surprisingly few of my colleagues are willing to put in the time and effort to work at the craft.’

Sue sniffed. As if writing was a _craft_. How typically self-aggrandising. ‘Anyone can write.’

‘Certainly,’ he said, bright-eyed. ‘Anyone can dance, anyone can run, and anyone can paint. However, _mastering_ any art form or sport requires study and practice.’

She propped up her chin. ‘Am I supposed to believe that you are a master?’

‘I merely state facts. I make a reasonable living doctoring scripts,’ he said easily. ‘You would be best asking my employers if they consider my work evidence of mastery.’

Sue pursed her lips. ‘I’m sure that your connections and social circle didn’t help at all.’

‘Quite likely,’ he agreed. ‘How is your husband?’

‘On his honeymoon with his new wife,’ Sue said.

Kent winced. ‘I wasn’t aware. Apologies.’

‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘He’s dead to me.’

‘It sounds like you don’t care,’ Kent said. He looked down as his cell rang. ‘Apologies.’

Sue watched him stand and move a few feet away which, as it transpired, was not quite enough to make him inaudible. She half-listened to him telling someone that “she” was in no pain or distress as far as could be ascertained, but that she hadn’t recognised him. His voice grew softer and a little rough as he said this. He shook his head at something that the other person said and squeezed the bridge of his nose. His mother’s health had been quite good. Remarkably good, in fact, for her age. Sue had spoken to her a number of times, both before and during her short relationship with Kent. She had seemed extremely sharp-witted and capable. It was startling to imagine that her mental equilibrium might have dropped so precipitously in such a short period of time.

Kent returned to the table. His polite smile was a little wan. It didn’t have quite the depth behind it that it had before.

‘My mother just moved in to the facility,’ Sue said.

‘Ah, that would explain why I haven’t seen you before,’ Kent said. ‘I can’t imagine that she was happy with that turn of events.’

‘She is furious. She ranted at me during the entirety of my visit,’ Sue said.

He frowned slightly. ‘Can she not simply sign herself out if she feels so strongly?’

‘She has nowhere else to go. Her health has reached the point where she cannot care for herself. She expected one of us to give up work and nurse her full time!’

She didn’t recognise the expression that crossed Kent’s face, but he seemed not to be looking at her but looking inward. 

‘There seems to be a common misconception that if you love someone sufficiently then you will be able to nurse them properly,’ he said quietly. ‘That elder abuse is continuing to increase as our population ages I take as evidence supporting anecdotal experience that it is not.’

‘My mother could drive a saint to murder,’ Sue said.

He smiled slightly at that. ‘I suspect that if one of you had given up work to nurse her then she would have also quickly grown to regret it.’

‘After her last hip operation, the medical staff at the hospital asked my brother to tell her to behave,’ Sue said. ‘She was aggressive and disparaging apparently.’

‘Did that work?’

‘Hardly. She said that they needed to grow thicker skins and then she made an official complaint about them communicating aspects of her care to my brother without her permission, rather than talking to her directly.’

Kent chuckled. ‘I fear that I can see both sides of that argument.’ His cell chimed. He clucked his tongue as he checked it. ‘Unfortunately, I have to go. I have a prior engagement.’

‘A hot date?’ Sue asked sarcastically.

He smiled slightly. ‘Alas it has rather some time since I had adult company. Well, other than this.’

‘When do you visit?’ Sue asked.

‘Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays.’

Sue checked her diary. ‘I mean to visit on Mondays and Wednesday. Perhaps I will see you on Wednesday then. At about the same time?’

For a moment he seemed to hesitate. He clasped his hands together and then nodded. ‘I’d like that.’

***

Dating had palled a long time ago. Sue had never suffered for male attention as a young woman and had rarely been single for more than a few days. Until her divorce she had rarely had to suffer the indignity of being “set-up” by friends or, horror of horrors, dating websites. Or dating companies, as they had been, when she was young. The divorce had been brutal. She had heard that some people merely acknowledged that the marriage had failed _somehow_ and moved on. The District of Columbia was a no-fault jurisdiction, even so, to Sue someone had to have been the cause. Someone had broken the marriage. Someone had to win the divorce.

Her husband called her egotistical, overbearing, and controlling.

She called him immature, distant, and careless.

Their friends took sides. Their families disinterred every petty resentment against each other. He burned her books. She cremated his car.

They took restraining orders out against each other.

After the paperwork was settled, and the remaining, unsinged, marital belongings had been divided up, Sue found that the stigma of a vicious divorce was not _quite_ the same for men as it was for women.

Her husband decried his “psychotic” ex-wife and was cooed over by co-eds mistaking age for maturity.

Sue called her husband an asshole and was ghosted by men who somehow thought a woman could, and should, reach her late thirties with as little “baggage” as a newborn. 

The problem with dating, as with so many things in life, was other people. Ideally one would be able to select one’s perfect partner from a menu, have them created with no hang-ups or history, unless you wanted that for some baffling reason, and then have them self-destruct if necessary. Obviously, this would only be available for women. Men already thought this was how the world worked.

***

Amy was struggling to come to terms with reality. Still. Ugh. It had been months. Admittedly it was extremely unusual for Selina Meyer to actually keep to a decision, any decision, for months. Yet here they were. Whatever Amy had done to _so_ piss off Selina appeared to be utterly irredeemable in Selina’s eyes. She wouldn’t even _talk_ to Amy when they were in the same room, instead focussing all her attention of whoever else was there. Even if it was Jonah. Jonah! She wouldn’t even consider having any kind of meeting with Amy alone.

‘I don’t think that this is working,’ Amy said reluctantly. ‘Selina used to complain that Hughes kept her locked out of things. Jesus, compared to how she deals with Jonah, Hughes was her best friend.’

Sue sipped her glass of wine. ‘Why are you surprised?’

‘Obviously, I didn’t expect her to keep this up forever,’ Amy said. ‘I thought she’d be pissed for a little while and things would get back to normal.’

Sue raised her eyebrow. ‘Her ignoring Jonah as much as humanly possible _is_ normal,’ she said. ‘She also barely included Doyle when he was her VP. What about this situation is not her normal behaviour?’

Amy shook her head and looked vaguely across the bar. ‘I have an interview next week.’

‘Good,’ Sue said. ‘It’s not with some company that Dan works for, is it?’

Amy scowled, as if that were an unreasonable question. The truth was that Amy had remarkably little real-world experience. Selina had recruited her out of college and, apart from working for Selina, she had only worked in roles that had been found for her by Dan and Buddy. In Sue’s opinion that was extremely undesirable. While it was perfectly fine to take advantage of a man’s connections to get ahead, since the patriarchy saw fit to handicap women’s attempts at forging connections, a woman should not rely exclusively on them. It was tacky.

Lack of real-world experience was a common problem in DC. The Capitol was full of people who had no idea what the real world was like. They floated from their “good schools” to colleges their parents bought them into, were found cushy jobs that their parents’ friends offered, and eventually, when they decided that “working” had gotten dull they either joined campaigns as staffers or decided to run as candidates themselves. Even Ben Cafferty, one of the more competent, if correspondingly more alcoholic, staffers that Sue had met over the years had never held down a real job. Even between campaigns and administrations he worked as a “consultant” or similar, and rarely seemed to hold on to those positions for more than a few months.

Don’t even start Sue on the politicians!

‘What?’ Sue asked.

‘I said Bill put my name forward,’ Amy said. ‘It’s a defence contractor.’

Sue pursed her lips. ‘Gun runners.’

‘By that logic POTUS is a warlord,’ Amy returned.

Sue considered it. ‘Warlady.’

‘Doesn’t have the same ring,’ Amy said.

‘Why would you work for Bill?’ Sue asked. ‘He bullied and harassed you.’

Amy gestured for another drink. ‘With him, not for him.’

‘Nonetheless.’

‘Everyone harasses me,’ Amy said. ‘I feel like I have a sign on my chest that says, “acceptable target for your bullshit.” Last week Furlong said I dressed like a Fox News Sex Doll.’

‘You do,’ Sue said. ‘And he talks like that to everyone. Bill Ericsson, on the other hand, made it his goal to get you fired.’

Amy propped her chin on her fist. ‘But I wasn’t and, you know, with guys you have to wonder if there’s some kind of _other_ reason why they’re being an aggressive dick to one woman in particular.’

Sue’s nose wrinkled. ‘If you are about to compare his behaviour to adolescent boys pulling little girls’ pigtails or some similarly asinine image then I may throw up.’

Amy rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not like he’s _that_ bad to look at. He’s a reasonably attractive man.’

Sue pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘You have the worst taste in men of any woman or gay man I have ever met, and I include Selina Meyer in that list.’

‘He’s not that bad!’ Amy protested.

‘For a divorced ex-convict, who bullied and harassed you in an attempted to make you lose your job?’ Sue asked. ‘Perhaps he is better than Dan, the philandering, sociopathic, sleaze but I think not better than Buddy, the hypocritical, homophobic homosexual, evangelical, drunk-driver.’

Amy narrowed her eyes. ‘You dated Kent.’

Sue shrugged. ‘He is none of those things.’

‘You said he was boring.’

‘Perhaps I did,’ Sue said. ‘Perhaps he was. I would take boring over _any_ of those things.’

Amy leaned back. ‘I don’t miss Selina talking about his dick.’

‘She did do that. Quite a number of times.’

‘Do you think they ever banged?’ Amy took a gulp of her drink.

Sue shook her head. ‘I asked Kent once.’

Amy almost choked. ‘That must’ve been an amazing fucking conversation. What did he say?’

‘He was utterly baffled why I was asking,’ Sue said. ‘Evidently the _only_ person to whom she had not made extremely explicit comments about him, was him. Or at least the only person who had not taken them in that manner. Either way, he said that they had not, and it would have never occurred to him.’

‘She doesn’t seem like his type I guess,’ Amy said. ‘Unless you’re a big screamer when you’re not at work.’

‘Only in an appropriate setting.’

It took Amy a moment to parse her meaning. ‘You don’t scream in bed. That’s not a real thing.’

Sue cocked her head. ‘What do you mean, it’s not a real thing?’

Amy waved her hand. ‘All that carrying on in bed. Screaming. Heavy breathing.’

‘Orgasms,’ Sue said.

‘Right. All _that_ bullshit.’

Sue crossed her leg. ‘Have you ever considered that you might be asexual?’

‘That’s not a thing,’ Amy snorted.

‘It’s a thing.’

‘Nobody likes sex, Sue, not really.’

Sue decided that the argument wasn’t worth the discussion.

***

Wednesday.

It was odd. Sue was in no way looking forward to seeing Kent. If she did see him. They had made only the loosest agreement to meet up. It was entirely possible that he had decided to do something else or that he had changed his mind about the time. He didn’t owe Sue anything and if one _did_ think that he at least owed her the common courtesy of letting her know he wouldn’t be there; he didn’t have her new number.

Not that he owed her anything. Obviously.

Also, she couldn’t think of having been in this situation with him before. When he had first returned to President Hughes's employ, she had seen him only sporadically, but they had not shared any particular attraction or interest. By the time that they were dating he was a regular fixture in Selina’s entourage. They had never before had to _arrange_ to meet up to spend time together.

_Not_ that the were doing that now. They weren’t dating. They weren’t even friends. They were polite acquaintances merely meeting up to pass the time after the unpleasantness of spending time with family members ensconced in the care facility.

She hadn’t asked how his mother was. Damn. Well, he hadn’t asked how her mother was either. Had he? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care about his mother and she was sure he didn’t care about hers. She certainly had no desire to spend time talking about her mother’s many and various complaints about the temperature, the food, the staff, etc, etc.

Sue's mother even complained about Sue coming to visit, saying that she hadn’t visited that often before the “false imprisonment” in the facility.

‘And why,’ she demanded, ‘do you smell like a fifty-dollar hooker?’

‘Why are you pretending that you have any idea how much a sex worker costs?’ Sue asked.

Her mother sniffed. ‘Because it sounds better.’

‘It sounds nonsensical,’ Sue replied. ‘Fifty-dollars is not notably cheap for a sex worker.’

‘And how would you know that?’

‘I work in politics,’ Sue said. 

Her mother looked out of the window. ‘You’ve got hard since he divorced you.’

Sue bristled. ‘He did _not_ divorce me. I divorced him.’

Her mother gave her a pitying look. ‘If you say so.’

‘If you dislike my visits so much then perhaps, I shouldn’t make them,’ Sue said. ‘I’m not here for the good of my health.’

Her mother gave her a sly look. ‘You visit to make sure that you’re in my will.’

Sue laughed. It was the most genuinely honest and spontaneous laugh that she’d had in months. ‘For _what_? This place isn’t being paid for in smiles and sunshine. By the time you die you won’t have anything to leave besides those beer steins and hideous little statues.’

‘Figurines!’ her mother snapped.

‘Which are worth cents on the dollar of what you paid for them,’ Sue said.

Her mother’s mouth tightened. ‘I’ll leave them to Jane.’

Sue shrugged. ‘If you like. Leave the beer steins to Peter.’

‘Your father collected those,’ her mother said more quietly.

‘I know.’

‘I used to say to him, what’s the point? Ugly things. Nobody is going to want those.’

Sue nodded. ‘I was surprised that you kept them after he died.’

Her mother shrugged. ‘He spent such a lot of time on then. Horrible, ugly things.’

‘Would you like me to bring a couple from storage?’ Sue suggested. ‘You could put them on the shelf there.’

Her mother followed her gesture. ‘Yes. If you like. If you think that’s something that would make _you_ happy.’

Sue rolled her eyes.

***

It was bright day. The sky was a vivid blue uncluttered by clouds. Sue hesitated by the exit, and then began to walk towards the coffee shop. Perhaps he had already been and gone. Perhaps he had decided not to visit that day. Anything was possible.

She saw him, stood outside the coffeeshop, messing with his cell phone. She found that she was smiling.

‘Hello,’ she said.

He smiled as he looked up. ‘Hello. Apologies, some people are remarkably poor at containing their communications to agreed-upon working hours.’

‘Are you having a scripting emergency?’ she asked tartly.

‘Given the tone one would imagine so.’ He shook his head. ‘How is your day?’

‘Rather irritating,’ she admitted. ‘But now that my daughterly duties are accomplished, I’m hoping the remainder of the day will improve.’

They walked into the coffeeshop and found seats.

‘Norah remains as spirited as ever then?’ Kent asked.

‘That is a remarkably polite way of putting it,’ Sue said sourly.

‘I recall that describing her as “feisty” did not meet with your approval.’

Sue pursed her lips. ‘Only in that “feisty” is something people only ever say about women.’

Kent winced. ‘Fair point.’

‘She was falling over several times a day,’ Sue said. ‘Sometimes she was stuck for hours. The situation couldn’t continue. It wasn’t safe.’

He tilted his head. ‘You did what you had to protect her.’

‘Also, none of us are in a position to drive all the way across D.C. to pick her up off the floor every few hours,’ she added. ‘It was extremely annoying. Stop smiling.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s the absurdity of the image. Doubtless it was not remotely amusing to you or your family.’

‘It was not,’ she said severely. ‘Especially not the time she fell out of the bath, which she should not have been using, and ended up stark naked with her legs stuck up in the air.’

Kent stared fixedly at the ceiling for several seconds before clearing his throat. ‘How does… How?’ 

‘I asked but she screamed and threw her bottles of shampoo and conditioner at me,’ Sue said. ‘She has something of a temper.’

‘A parent of yours has a temper. Hard to imagine,’ Kent said.

Sue scowled at him. ‘I suppose your mother has never lost her temper.’

‘She’s never thrown anything at me that I recall. Not at me. I suspect that she threw things at my father.’ He gave Sue a sheepish look. ‘He was not good husband material I suspect.’

‘As far as I can tell no men are,’ Sue said.

Kent winced.

‘Did I tell you that I’m divorced now?’

‘It was in the papers,’ Kent said. ‘Who are you seeing now?’

She shifted her feet. ‘I’m not seeing anyone.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Sue Wilson, the great serial monogamist is _single_?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Coming from a man barely able to keep a relationship together for more than three weeks that is obviously meaningful.’

Kent gave her an odd look and then clasped his hands together. ‘Relationships are… always far more complicated and difficult that you anticipate. There are wider issues at play. External forces that can wrench you apart.’

Sue tilted her head. ‘How long has it been since you had sex?’

He smiled slightly but she could tell there was more pain than amusement in his eyes. ‘With someone else?’

‘Hilarious,’ she said.

‘A while,’ he admitted. ‘It would have bothered me more when I was younger. As I grow older, I find I regret more the quiet warmth afterwards than the excitement before. If I was so inclined, I suppose that I could pay for the act itself, but I don’t believe it’s ever possible to truly fake affection and tenderness.’

Sue was quiet for a moment. ‘No. I don’t believe that it is.’

***

People said things like, “it just happened,” as if having sex was like tripping up. Or, “it was a mistake,” as if being tired or failing to pay attention somehow led directly to sleeping together.

Sue didn’t “just happen” to invite Kent back to her house. They didn’t mistakenly go to bed together.

He was different. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely a surprise. Their relationship was different. Perhaps they were different. She would never have said that the divorce had left her bruised, but she might have admitted that it had been painful. Difficult.

He had told her very little about his private life. She’d heard about the girlfriend who’d been killed. That had been during the last campaign. Everyone had heard about that. He didn’t mention her. Sue knew that she should have asked. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t.

Kent pushed his face into the crook of her neck and breathed deeply. She let her hand lay on his shoulder.

‘What time is it?’ he asked.

‘What? Nearly four.’

He groaned. ‘I have to go.’

‘Oh.’ She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. ‘Do you want a shower?’

He shook his head as he looked around for his clothes. ‘I don’t have time.’

‘I hope you’re not going to tell me that you have a meeting in the morning,’ she said.

He was startled for a moment and then shook his head. ‘No. This was… Did you have a nice time?’

Sue nodded. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes. It’s been…’ He licked his lips. ‘Sometimes I miss being held. A touch. A smile. More even than talking. More even than sex.’

Sue sat up. ‘You should see a therapist.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t know that there are therapists who do that.’

She threw a pillow at him. ‘Go away and do whatever it is you need to. I’ll see you on Monday for coffee.’

Kent smiled slightly. ‘Okay.’

***

It would have surprised anyone who had ever worked with Sue to learn that she was considered the prodigal of the family. “Only” educated to a Masters, no children, making less than have a million a year, married late, and now divorced. Her parents had never failed to make their disappointment clear and sharp. It was frustrating that she could not clearly verbalise why all of these choices were the ones she made, knowing that they would be considered shortcomings. Frustrating that, knowing her choices would be considered “wrong,” she found that she had absolutely no desire to change them.

Sue would not have ever described herself as a rebel. None of her friends would ever have considered her disruptive in any manner. It wasn’t that she was a natural follower, you understand, but more that rebellion, much like compliance, required more interest in the rules than Sue was prepared to entertain. In the same way that hate was love with its back turned, rebellion was obedience thumbing its nose. Sue was not invested enough to feel either.

Or so she, and most people who knew her, would have said. Her sister, however, would not have agreed. Jane had once accused Sue of “nodding, saying ‘yes mom,’ and then doing whatever the hell you want.”

Sue thought about this as she walked up the driveway to Jane’s house. Another family meeting. Ugh. It was extremely tempting to simply refuse to go. Alas while the refusal would have been simple, the resulting arguments would not. There were times when she considered emigrating somewhere, just for the pleasure of not being able to go to one of these meetings.

Bryan opened the door as she reached it. She saw his eyes flick up and down her. Why did men insist on going through life imagining that they were subtle when they mentally undressed women? As if they were subtle in anything else.

She punched him in the shoulder.

‘Jesus! Hello to you too,’ he groaned.

‘Don’t ogle me,’ she said. ‘Next time it will be considerably lower.’

‘Assault is a crime you know,’ he grumbled.

She shot him a look. ‘Please. Charge me with assault. Explain _that_ to Jane.’

‘Don’t have to be such a bitch about it.’

‘When you stop being a bastard then I’ll stop being a bitch,’ she said.

***

Jane followed Sue into the kitchen as Sue turned on the coffee machine.

‘Why are following me around like a concussed puppy?’ Sue asked.

‘When have you ever seen a concussed puppy, let alone been followed around by one?’ Jane asked.

‘Splitting hairs in no way explains what you are doing.’

Jane crossed her arms and watched Sue making herself a coffee. ‘Who he is?’

‘Who?’

‘Whoever this new man is,’ Jane said. ‘You’re not remotely as discrete as you imagine that you are.’

Sue looked at Jane over her shoulder. ‘You’re not remotely as insightful as you think you are.’

Jane raised an eyebrow. ‘When you pulled your phone out of your purse you dropped a receipt for condoms. By all means, explain to me why you’re purchasing them if you do not have a new lover.’

Sue folded her arms. ‘By all mean, explain to me why this is any of your business?’

Jane snorted. ‘Obviously, I’m bored.’

Sue rolled her eyes. ‘Since you think nobody has anything better to do on a Friday evening than talk about mom’s issues ad infinitum, I can only assume that you must be desperately bored.’

‘Is it someone from work?’

‘No.’

Jane pulled a face. ‘Is the sex good?’

‘Yes,’ Sue said. ‘Extremely.’ 

‘That’s something,’ Jane said, sniffing. ‘My friend Madeline actually said yesterday that sex wasn’t that important in a relationship. Can you believe some people?’

‘Ridiculous,’ Sue said, shaking her head. ‘A relationship with where the sex is inadequate is no relationship at all.’

‘I’m glad that you’ve finally started seeing someone,’ Jane said.

Sue pulled a face. ‘I’ve been on dates since the divorce.’

‘Was this just a date?’

‘Not precisely.’ Sue clasped her hands together. ‘It wasn’t the first time that I’d met him.’

Jane narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s wrong with him? You are being deliberately obtuse.’

Sue sipped her coffee. ‘He’s an existing acquaintance.’

‘So either he’s a former co-worker or an ex,’ Jane sniffed. ‘Either way, a terrible idea.’

Sue’s lips tightened. ‘It’s just sex. I don’t even know why I bothered telling you about it.’

‘Because I made you.’

***

Just sex. Just sex was a new concept. At least, it was a new concept for Sue to consider.

Sue had spent most of her adult life ticking off the boxes of achievements that she was “supposed” to have. College education, tick. Ground floor job progressing upwards, tick. Car, tick. Own home, tick. Boyfriend, tick. Fiancé, tick. Husband, tick.

Except it hadn’t been quite so simple. It had taken a considerable amount of time and effort to find a boyfriend who could be progressed further. A considerable amount of time and effort to find one who was interested in progressing further.

Even that was an oversimplification. She had dated for marriage and children. That had always been the plan. Kent had been quite open about hoping for a serious marriage and if not biological children, given his age, then adoption. Too serious, somehow. Not merely too serious about his “intentions” but about her. It made no sense. Naturally she wanted commitment. Why had his very genuine and earnest commitment somehow been the _wrong_ _kind_?

Sue had little appreciation for irony. She was aware that there was irony in rejecting Kent but accepting her husband. Her husband had said most of the right things, made most of the right gestures, despite her awareness of the disconnect. Of the wrong things that he said and did. The wrong things that he said and did which were small and few but somehow still undermined the right things. They were like old stains gently blossoming through new paint.

Now her _ex-husband_ forswore all commitment entirely and Kent… never mentioned it. Said nothing of plans or hopes for the future. He rarely spoke of the present, come to that. They met on Mondays and Wednesdays, had a coffee, chatted a little about her job or his, then went back to her home and slept together.

She enjoyed the coffee and the chat. Kent, shorn of his anxiety, was an engaging conversationalist. He made her smile with clever comments and asides. He _listened_ to her stories. He remembered her colleagues’ names, their foibles, and the ongoing feuds or alliances Sue had with them.

She liked the sex, although that had never been a problem for them. The sex had always been good, even when everything else was bad. But it was different, somehow. He was different. He was rarely able to stay long and that didn’t seem to bother him. He never suggested meeting at other times. She didn’t suggest it either, but she would have expected it from him

Sue wasn’t sure if she had any interest in marriage again. Certainly, she had no burning desire to get pregnant at her age. But it seemed odd that he appeared to have no interest either. Julie’s death must have been a shock, but that was years ago. He never mentioned her. Surely, he wasn’t still grieving for her.

Just sex. The idea that Kent of all people would be interested in “just sex” with anyone was difficult to parse. Not that he had said that. They hadn’t had any kind of discussion about the situation. Sue didn’t have those kinds of discussions but when they dated Kent had tried to initiate them. She didn’t know what they were doing now. He wasn’t _cold_ or unfeeling with her. He was very warm before sex and very affectionate during it. But it was very much a sort of bubble that existed outside of the rest of their lives. Untouched and untouching the rest of their reality.

Sue was nearly at the door when POTUS called her back. A disaster. _Another_ disaster. There had been so many disasters under President Meyer’s aegis that Sue rarely even registered them anymore. If she had thought about it earlier then it might have occurred to her that her plans might have been disturbed. It was rarely that she had cause to be annoyed at herself and rarer still that she blamed herself for any problems. She was annoyed at herself now and even her best efforts at creative consideration failed to move the blame to anyone else.

Sue wasn’t going to make it to the assisted living facility. Her mother was going to be annoyed and her annoyance was _certainly_ going to be passed on to Sue at the next possible moment. Worse, she was going to be too late to see Kent.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

They hadn’t exchanged updated numbers. She tried the old number that she had for him, but the line was dead.

It was time to consider unpleasant alternatives. The amount of people with whom Kent was still in contact was undoubtedly quite small. In fact, she could only think of one.

Well, more to the point, the wife of one. That was much more likely to be successful.

Sue had spoken to Joyce a number of times over the years since Ben had begin assisting Selina Meyer in her presidential ambition although admittedly not in some time. Sue tried to avoid dealing with wives. They rarely lasted long in the larger scheme of things. First wives could last a decade or more, but there was some law of diminishing returns at play. Second wives rarely lasted as long as first wives, and third wives never lasted as long as second wives, and so on. Joyce was Ben’s… fourth wife. In Sue’s experience that meant that it was even odds whether or not she and Ben would still be married.

Nonetheless, she called, since she strongly suspected that, even if Joyce and Ben had parted ways, Joyce would likely still have enough fondness for Kent to have kept his number. There was something about Kent that invited a kind of maternal affection from a certain type of woman. The kind of woman who assumed that single men needed to have casseroles and care packages providing. The kind of woman, in fact, who tries to fix up single men with “nice women” of their acquaintance, irrespective of whether either the man or woman involved is actively looking to date. Women, in fact, very much like Joyce Cafferty.

Joyce’s phone number worked. She answered the call on the second ring.

Sue initially thought that this was a good thing. She would soon think differently.

***

She could have found out his address. With the resources to which she had access it would have been relatively simple. But no. That would have been illegal, which was hardly unknown working for Selina Meyer, but more to the point it would have left a paper trail pointing to the illegality. Sue was far too smart for that.

She was far too _angry_ for that.

Better to wait. Better to calm down. Better to face him with equanimity.

Better to go to the assisted living facility on Saturday and wait for him to arrive. Stewing on her anger, her outrage, and her _hurt_ , letting them deepen and curdle, as she sat in her car, watching the entrance.

If she had not been in her car then she would have had a different perspective entirely. If there had not been so many cars in the way, then she would have seen more than the glimpses of him as he walked. If she had not been so angry and upset, then she might have waited before she leapt from the car and stalked towards him.

If she had waited, if she had not been so angry, if she had been less distracted, then perhaps she would have seen the little girl holding his hand.

He was about twenty feet ahead of Sue. Hand in hand with a girl who barely reached his waist.

‘Kent?’

He turned. If she had harboured any tiny doubts, any hopes that Joyce had been wrong or mistaken, they disappeared in the guilt and panic of his expression.

The little girl looked nothing like him: deep umber skin, wide, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and natural hair twisted into curls and parted on one side. Her little hand was lost inside Kent’s, and she moved behind him as she saw Sue looking at her.

‘Uh…’ Kent said. ‘I didn’t… I waited yesterday but –’

‘Who’s this?’ Sue demanded.

Kent looked down at the little girl. He twisted and knelt down. He said something to her that Sue couldn’t hear. The little girl turned around and let him take something from the tiny backpack that she was wearing. She retreated a few steps and sat down by a tree.

Kent licked his lips as he walked a little closer to Sue. ‘I can –’

Sue slapped him. ‘You’re _married._ ’

He looked back at the little girl before he responded, but she was concentrating on the game console that he had given her.

‘This isn’t a good time,’ he said. The mark of her hand was livid red on his skin.

‘Why the _fuck_ should I care what is good for you?’

Kent moved closer and lowered his voice. ‘You have every right to be angry at me, but please, for Rose’s sake, could you not swear?’

‘She’s the only reason I didn’t punch you in the throat,’ Sue growled.

He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I understand that.’

‘Who is she?’

‘My daughter,’ he said, glancing back to check on Rose. ‘Adopted. I bring her on Saturdays to visit Violet.’

Sue stared at him. ‘Your wife.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why is your wife here?’

He pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘She has early onset dementia.’

‘That’s no excuse!’ she snarled.

He looked at his feet. ‘No.’

‘Is that it? No damn explanation?’

He sighed. ‘I have explanations, but I have Rose just there and I’ve made a commitment to take her to visit Violet. Violet won’t know either way, but Rose does.’

Sue’s lip curled up in a snarl. ‘Suddenly you care about your commitment?’

Kent licked his lips. ‘I deserve that and more but please, for Rose’s sake, can we not do this here and now? Her mother barely recognises her. Her life is difficult enough without me failing her.’

Sue crossed her arms. ‘I’m coming in with you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t trust a damn word you say,’ she said. ‘Show me this wife who you say doesn’t know who you are and if she _does_ then I’m going to tell her what you’ve done.’

Kent shrugged. ‘As you like.’

‘Good.’

‘She is in a health care facility. Telling her would be rather cruel, don’t you think?’

She hit him backhandedly. He let her. She saw him see the blow coming and let it happen. His skin flared red immediately. Her hand ached anew at the blow.

‘Don’t you _dare_ lecture me on cruelty,’ she growled.

He met her eyes, but he didn’t answer her. Instead he turned to Rose, playing peacefully at the foot of the tree.

‘Rose, would you come and say hello to my friend? She’s going to come in with us to see mommy.’

The little girl looked worried as she stood up and edged over to Kent. She watched Sue warily as she handed him the game console to put into her backpack, hiding behind Kent’s legs.

‘Hello,’ Sue said, biting off the word as if it tasted bad.

‘Hi,’ Rose whispered. She tugged Kent’s trouser leg and looked up at him.

He picked her up in an easy, practiced movement and held her against his chest.

‘I waited for you yesterday,’ he said to Sue as he began walking.

‘There was an emergency. Your number didn’t work. I called Joyce.’

Kent released a breath through his lips. ‘Doubtless Joyce was thrilled to give you all the gossip.’

‘I hardly wanted to hear the extent of your lies and my naivete,’ she retorted. ‘Hearing about Violet was quite enough.’

Rose shifted slightly. ‘What did you lie about?’

Sue set her jaw and looked away.

‘Sue is my friend,’ Kent said carefully. ‘I didn’t tell her about mommy being sick.’

Or existing. Sue glowered at him.

Rose was thoughtful. ‘Because it’s sad?’

‘Partly,’ Kent said.

Rose looked at Sue over Kent’s shoulder. ‘Kent’s my daddy now.’

‘That’s right,’ he said, rubbing her back with his hand.

‘I’m sure he takes good care of you,’ Sue said grudgingly.

Rose smiled slightly for the first time. Then she turned back to Kent. ‘Can we get burgers on the way home?’

‘Hmm, perhaps if you’re good,’ he said.

‘We always get burgers on the way home.’

‘I suppose that means that you must always be good,’ he said.

Rose looked back at Sue. ‘Are you getting burgers with us?’

‘That depends if your daddy is good.’

It was meant to be cutting. Vicious. But it was difficult to be cold and nasty to Rose’s face. To a little girl clinging to Kent for some kind of comfort and reassurance.

‘Be good, Daddy,’ Rose said very seriously.

He forced an uncomfortable smile. ‘I’ll try.’

‘How long has Kent been your father?’ Sue asked. She knew from Kent’s expression that he didn’t want her talking to Rose. That he was searching for some way to protest the conversation but coming up short.

‘Umm, since I was… little?’ Rose said.

‘I met you when you were eighteen months old,’ Kent said to her. ‘Your mommy and I married when you were nearly three. The adoption went through three months later.’

‘And now I’m five and three-quarters,’ she said.

‘Right,’ Kent said. ‘The three-quarters is extremely important,’ he teased.

‘I would have thought you of all people would believe so,’ Sue said tartly.

He looked at her and reddened.

Sue was used to going a certain route to visit her mother. She had never been in the other wing of the facility; she had no need or inclination to do so. It only added to her feeling of disorientation then when Kent turned left instead of right, when he led her through not the familiar series of rooms with older people relaxing at their own choice, but corridors of closed doors and privacy glass. The other wing of the building was a facility for those who merely needed a little extra help. This wing was a hospital. That was extremely clear.

‘I don’t like it here,’ Rose whispered, mostly to herself.

‘I know,’ Kent said quietly.

‘I want mommy to come home.’

‘She can’t, duckling,’ Kent said. ‘She’s too ill.’

Rose buried her head against his chest. ‘I know.’

Sue took a deep breath against the nausea bubbling in her stomach. She was still angry. She wasn’t going to let him derail that.

‘Here’s mommy’s room,’ Kent said. He tapped in a code on a keypad on a door at the far end of the corridor. ‘Do you have the picture that you made for her?’

‘It’s in my backpack.’

He swung Rose down to the floor and held his hand out to her. Sue saw the little girl take a deep breath and square her tiny shoulders as Kent opened the door.

***

An alarm on Kent’s cell began to beep. He turned it off quickly, before it could wake Rose or Violet. Rose was curled up tightly against her mother. Kent had put his jacket over the sleeping child.

‘Time to go,’ he said, gently moving Violet’s arm from where is rested across Rose.

‘How long has she been… How long?’ Sue asked.

‘She’s been here for six months.’ Kent carefully picked Rose up and rested her against his chest. ‘She became ill about eighteen months ago. It accelerated quite quickly.’ He kissed Violet on the forehead.

‘You promised her a burger,’ Sue said.

He nodded and opened the door. ‘She’ll wake up when I start the car.’

Sue looked back as they left the room. Violet looked a few years older than Sue, but she had features that Sue’s mother would have called ‘elegant.’ She was exactly the sort of woman she would have expected Kent to be attracted to. Or she had been, before she became ill. Sue had no experience with dementia, early-onset or otherwise. She didn’t know what she had expected. Not this.

As they walked down the corridor, she looked at the other rooms. ‘Why does her room have a lock?’

Kent glanced at Rose. ‘She was being rather overfriendly with some of the other patients.’

‘Overfriendly?’

‘Climbing into bed with them,’ he said. ‘She gets quite confused about many things and forgets a lot of others, but she remembers that she enjoys sex. Instincts tend to be more enduring than inhibitions.’

Sue flinched. ‘Does that make it legal to lock her in her room?’

‘It’s not for my benefit,’ he said, an edge in his voice. ‘Consent for people in her condition is… difficult legally and impossibly ethically. Don’t forget that the people into whose beds she climbed are equally incapable of giving consent. If a male patient was roaming around assaulting female patients, you would not be questioning the decision to secure his door.’

Sue pursed her lips. ‘And if you weren’t a white man you might have some qualms about a heavily medicated black woman being confined to her room while her husband runs around sleeping with other women.’

He turned around, the colour draining from his face. ‘I don’t deserve that.’

‘I have no idea what you deserve,’ she said stiffly. ‘You’re not the man I thought you were.’

Kent stared at her. ‘Goodbye, Sue,’ he said eventually.

She swallowed sharply and pushed past him. Walk. Walk. Walk. Don’t run. Don’t look back. Don’t let that rising nausea flood out. Don’t let that scream claw its way out. Don’t let the tears leak out. Don’t let the bastard see how much…

Don’t. Just don’t.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Sue woke feeling under the weather. A twenty-four-hour flu or something similar. She managed to sit up and regretted it. There was a lingering, acrid smell that pushed bile up into her mouth.

She looked down. How could she have thrown up and forgotten about it? She had done her best to clear it up with paper towels, but then she had put the paper towels in the trash and clambered into bed. Disgusting.

As she went into the kitchen, she picked up the bottle of tequila from the floor and put it away. Ugh. She didn’t even _like_ tequila. She only kept the bottle for Jane on the rare occasions that she visited.

She put the coffee on, put bread into the toaster, and went to brush her teeth.

Okay. She’d had a little blow out. It happened. It didn’t mean anything. It had nothing to do with that adulterous _shit_. It was just a coincidence. That was all.

Sue looked into the bathroom mirror. She looked like hell. Hangovers were definitely overrated. Like men.

She’d thought that he was…

Stop. Stop it. Whatever she’d thought, she was wrong. He was like the rest of them. A selfish, lying, asshole who manipulated her into being the other woman. _Her_!

She should have his name added to the no-fly list. And get someone in the Treasury to tank his credit score. Could they do that? If not, they probably knew someone else who could. 

She ate her toast, drank her coffee, and took her painkillers. Then she crawled into the shower for far too long. When she eventually climbed out, she changed into the joggers and hoodie that she generally reserved for actual illness. She considered getting back into bed and pulling the covers over her head.

Someone rang her bell. Shit. Sue was not asocial by any means. She considered herself to be appropriately outgoing, engaging, and interesting. However, she was not a fan of human beings in general. It was quite difficult to like people in general once you had met more than a handful of them. The amount of them she did not wish to punt into the sun was too small to convince her that the species overall was not terrible.

More than that, she had not done her hair or put on her makeup. If she was going to be forced to interact with someone, she at least wanted to have her full confidence if, as seemed likely, she was going to end up telling them to fuck off.

The painkillers had not entirely kicked in and Sue was not feeling precisely “fragile” so much as “volatile.” It would not take a great deal of provocation to turn “volatile” or “explosive,” in whatever form that might take. 

Her bell rang again.

Sue gritted her teeth and stamped to the door. She knew as she yanked open the door whose silhouette it was that she saw through the smoked glass. She opened the door anyway.

Kent stiffened when he saw her. He began to take a step back, and then stopped.

‘Where’s your daughter?’

‘At a sleepover,’ he said. ‘That isn’t why I’m here. I would have arranged a sitter if she hadn’t happened to –’

‘Stop babbling and tell me why you’re here,’ she said.

He licked his lips. ‘I owe you an explanation and an apology,’ he said.

Sue folded her arms. ‘What makes you think that I want one? Or is that not important?’

‘You specifically asked for an explanation.’ Kent clasped his hands together. ‘Outside the hospital.’

Sue folded her arms. ‘You thought that the best way to explain was to turn up unannounced?’

He was quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t have your new number.’

‘I suppose that you should come in,’ she admitted. ‘Before my neighbours begin wondering what you’re up to.’

Kent followed her inside, keeping his distance as they moved into the living room. She wondered if he thought she might slap him again. She still felt the urge.

‘You’ve redecorated,’ he said.

‘This isn’t a social call.’

‘No.’ He sighed. ‘You have every right to be angry.’

‘You made me the other woman,’ she said. ‘You didn’t even have the basic respect to tell me the situation. You treated me like an unpaid prostitute.’

He blinked. ‘That word isn’t –’

‘Don’t start on me with that!’ she snapped. ‘That’s how you treated me!’

He rubbed his forehead. ‘I’m sorry. I never… I didn’t mean to try you that way.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think that you were interested in something more meaningful than what we were doing. When we dated you were very upset when you felt I was too invested.’

Sue snorted. ‘Don’t fucking blame me because you cheated on your dying wife!’

He looked down. ‘I’m not blaming you.’

‘I thought you were better than that,’ she said quietly. ‘Whatever else, I thought you were better than _that_.’ 

‘She hasn’t recognised me in months,’ Kent said. ‘On good days she won’t even let me hold her hand.’

‘You said she was having sex with other patients.’

He nodded. ‘On bad days she keeps taking off her clothes and trying to have sex with anyone within grabbing distance.’

Sue pulled a sour face. ‘Lucky you.’

‘I don’t… She doesn’t know what she’s doing,’ he said. He looked at Sue. ‘I understand that you must think I’m… I’m sure that I look like a monster to you. I’m not going to make excuses. There aren’t any excuses. I love my wife. I don’t regret falling in love with her and I don’t regret marrying her.’ He licked his lips. ‘I should have never… I have no excuse for having an affair with you. Nothing excuses that. If you want an _explanation_ … I… I’m scared, Sue, and I’m hurt, and I’m so _lonely._ I love my Violet. I never stopped loving her. But, the woman in that bed isn’t Violet. She’s a… train station through which the train that is Violet occasionally whistles through. Every time I see her the train visits less often and for less time. I married a woman who was quick and clever and funny and _angry_ at the injustice in the world. We would argue for hours. I miss that.’ He sighed. ‘She’s gone. She’s never coming back. I miss her. Being with you… it helped me forget how much I miss her. I’m sorry. It’s unfair to you and it’s unfair to her. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’

‘You should have told me,’ Sue said.

He nodded. ‘I know.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

He shrugged. ‘I could say that I didn’t want to ruin things with you or that I thought if I didn’t tell you that it wouldn’t make you feel guilty. But I think I was just pretending that it wasn’t real. It I didn’t tell you, if I didn’t acknowledge it, then we weren’t doing anything wrong.’

Sue folded her arms. ‘You should have told me. I trusted you, Kent, and you betrayed that.’

She saw his shoulders slump and knew that he understood.

‘I should have told you, ’ he said quietly. ‘I… I can only say that I’m sorry. Do you want me to go now?’

Sue nodded. Words were unthinkable.

As he stepped past her, he kissed her chastely on the cheek. She knew that it was a goodbye. An acknowledgment of betrayal, and of loss.

After he left, Sue closed the drapes, drank too much rum, got under the covers, and cried, and cried, until exhaustion took her.

***

It was quite a small article in the newspaper. That was all that newspapers were good for now: little bits of information that people should be told but that probably hardly anyone wanted to know.

Sue clasped her hands together. Violet Marie Davison, age forty-four. Survived by her daughter, Rose, and her husband, Kent.

‘Did you know that Kent was married?’ Sue asked.

Amy gave her a blank look as she picked up her menu. ‘Davison? Yeah. It was all fucking tragic and shit. Again. You should be glad you escaped without ending up dead or with Parkinson’s.’

‘Early-onset dementia,’ Sue corrected.

‘What did I say?’

‘Parkinson’s disease,’ Sue said. ‘I believe that involves tremors.’

Amy pulled a face. ‘Still sounds terrible.’

‘A different type of terrible.’

Amy shuddered. ‘He was a fucking mess, I know that. Ben took him out drinking after the diagnosis. Joyce had to bail them both out.’

‘They were arrested?’ Sue squeaked.

Amy squinted at her. ‘What the fuck just happened to your voice?’

‘Shock.’

‘Oh. Well, I told you. Kent was a fucking _mess_. Like, blackout drunk mess. Joyce ended up looking after the kid for a couple of days while Kent dried himself out.’

‘What was Violet doing?’ Sue asked.

Amy shrugged. ‘Out of her gourd on the experimental meds. Kent almost bankrupted himself with nurses and experimental treatments.’

Sue bit her lower lip as she stirred her drink. ‘He must have loved Violet a great deal,’ she said quietly.

Amy groaned softly. ‘Do we have to talk about this? It’s fucking depressing. He loved her, whatever that means, she got sick, it broke him, she died, now he’s stuck with her kid. This is why falling in love, whatever that means, is fucking idiotic.’

‘Rose is still with him?’ Sue asked.

‘Yeah, sure, he adopted her,’ Amy said, rolling her eyes. ‘She came into BKD a few times. Scared to death of her own shadow. Some shit went down with her, whatever you call it, bio dad. Christ knows how she’s going to get on with the robot man raising her.’

‘Probably quite well,’ Sue said sharply. ‘You’re unfair to him.’

Amy gave her a jaundiced look. ‘That’s a little hypocritical from someone who talks like he’s the fucking antichrist.’

‘We had bad breakups,’ Sue said.

Amy stared at her.

‘What?’

‘Bad breakups.’

Sue raised an eyebrow. ‘And?’

‘Plural,’ Amy said. ‘As in you broke up badly more than once.’

Sue set her jaw. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘When did you break up the second time?’

Sue shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake both times.’

‘If you’re breaking up with the same guy over the same shit multiple times then that’s not a mistake,’ Amy said. ‘That’s you needing fucking therapy.’

‘It wasn’t… We didn’t break up for the same reason.’ Sue turned her glass round and round. ‘The first time he was too intense. He wanted too much and too quickly.’

‘Ew.’

Sue ignored her. ‘The second time… I found out that he hadn’t been honest with me. I could have rationalised the cheating if he’d been honest with me.’

Amy almost choked on her drink. ‘He _cheated_ on you?’

‘No! Not on, with.’ Sue shifted uneasily. ‘While Violet was in the home. I had no idea he was married.’

Amy rested her chin in her cupped hand. ‘I thought you meant properly cheated.’

‘He was married. He slept with me,’ Sue said firmly.

‘To a vegetable,’ Amy said. ‘That doesn’t count.’

Sue shook her head. ‘The woman was slowly losing her memories and her identity. The least she could have expected from the man who swore to be with her in sickness and in health was fidelity.’

‘Why’re you getting all high and mighty? You’re the one who slept with her husband.’

‘I didn’t know!’

Amy gave her a jaundiced look. ‘There weren’t any kind of hints? You didn’t have any suspicions? Come on, Sue. You admitted yourself that you’re more pissed that he didn’t tell you than you are that he was cheating.’

Sue closed her eyes for a moment. ‘He said that he was lonely. That he missed her.’

‘They all say that. It’s literally the playbook. Waah, waah, my wife doesn’t understand me, she doesn’t listen to me, I’m lonely. What they mean is, I’m a boring fucker and my wife isn’t putting up with my shit anymore.’

‘Except that’s not his situation at all,’ Sue said. ‘His wife didn’t know who he was and kept wandering into other people’s rooms to have sex with _them_.’

Amy sniggered.

‘It’s not funny.’

‘The second part is a little bit funny,’ Amy said. ‘I wonder if that’s why there was all that thing about STDs in care homes when Selina was president. All those old people bumping uglies.’

‘There’s something to look forward to,’ Sue said dryly.

Amy leaned back in her chair. ‘Why’re we talking about this anyway?’

‘She died. It was in the paper. The funeral is tomorrow.’

‘Don’t do it.’

‘What?’

Amy crossed her legs. ‘Don’t go to the funeral. The kid will be there. Her family will be there. If they find out who you are it’ll be a big gross mess.’

‘What possible reason do you have for thinking that I might go to the funeral?’ Sue demanded.

Amy waved her menu vaguely. ‘We just spent five minutes with you convincing yourself that him boning you while his wife’s brain crumbled into cottage cheese wasn’t a big deal. You got pissed because he lied to you but you’re still super into him.’

‘You’re the one who said it wasn’t really cheating!’ Sue protested.

‘Because it’s what you wanted to hear. Fuck, Sue I don’t know how to respond to it,’ she said. ‘It sounds super fucking gross to cheat on the woman while she has dementia. But… he’s only human. People get lonely. They make stupid choices. It’s not like she was really his wife anymore. They couldn’t do husband and wife shit.’ Amy stopped. ‘They _weren’t_ still fucking, right?’

‘No!’ Sue snapped. ‘Of course not.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes, he said it was impossible for people in her position to give consent.’ Sue pulled a face. ‘They had to put a lock on her door to stop her wandering the halls and having sex with other people.’

Amy waved her arms. ‘I don’t know what the ethics of this are, Sue, except he should’ve told you and you absolutely should not go to her funeral. Her _daughter_ will be there. She’s going to need all of the attention that Kent can give her to get her through that shit.’

‘Rose.’

‘Yeah. This isn’t just about you and it isn’t just about Kent,’ Amy said. ‘So, you should think real carefully about this whole fucking mess.’ She put down the menu. ‘Now can we talk about something more interesting? Like the godawful mess _I’m_ making of _my_ life?’

***

Violet Marie Davison, nee Freeman, age forty-four. There wasn’t a great deal in the public record. She had been a geneticist of considerable note and reputation. Her work specialising in agriculture was credited internationally. She had published some studies and some books. She had been married and divorced before she met Kent. Sue found a few reports about the arrest of Mark Jackson Freeman for spousal abuse and minor drug charges. Violet Freeman and Kent Davison had been married in Portland at a garden resort. There was a photograph in the local newspaper. They had married outdoors. Kent in a smart dark grey suit and Violet in a knee-length white gown. They were looking at each other as if there was nobody else in the world.

Good. Sue clasped her hands together. She was not by nature good at sharing. She was not generally happy if her partner had a friend or friends of the opposite sex. She loathed hearing about their exes. She expected to feel the same way about Violet. She didn’t. She looked at the photograph of the woman who hadn’t been scared away by Kent’s desire to commit, by his intensity, and she wasn’t irritated or jealous. She looked at Violet’s smile, at her obvious happiness, and she felt glad that the other woman had it, and sad that she had so little time to enjoy it.

Sue wasn’t going to the funeral. As little as Sue would have wished to admit it, Amy was right. It would have been disrespectful. Sue didn’t know Violet. She suspected that any woman Kent married, any woman who came through an abusive marriage, any woman who fought to the top of her field in one of the sciences, was not a woman who would accept disrespect. Nor should she.

‘Would you have slept with him if you’d known about his wife?’ Jane asked.

‘I do not sleep with married men,’ Sue said, but it wasn’t as firm as she expected.

Jane tilted her head. ‘Some people say it’s the man that’s in the wrong. The woman doesn’t owe the wife anything.’

‘You don’t believe that,’ Sue sniffed. ‘If a woman slept with your husband, you would break her jaw.’

‘Obviously,’ Jane said. ‘But I’d break his back.’

‘Precisely. It’s a betrayal of common decency to sleep with someone in a committed relationship with someone else.’ Sue crossed her legs. ‘Not to mention it makes you look like a complete fool.’

‘Oh God, yes,’ Jane agreed. ‘How does anyone respect anyone stupid enough to fall in love with some man cheating on his wife?’

Sue scowled at her. ‘Thank you.’

Jane raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean you.’

‘Good.’

‘I mean… You’re not in _love_ with him,’ Jane said. ‘Are you?’

‘No,’ Sue said. ‘Shut up.’

***

She didn’t go to the funeral. Instead she sat in her car, parked on the edge of the graveyard, and watch the distant mourners by the graveside.

The weather was entirely unsympathetic. Instead of the traditional grey skies heavy with storm clouds and the constant patter of rain there was weak daylight and a slight breeze scattering a few leaves here and there. A nothing of a day.

Kent stood out among the mourners. Sue saw his white hair as he stood by himself. Every so often someone came up to him. They didn’t stay long. She supposed that was normal. Nobody ever knew quite what to say at a funeral. Certainly, she never did. Other people’s pain was alarming. Some people were so obviously distressed that talking to them was akin to sticking your arm into a wasp nest. Others were deceptively calm. The placid ocean before the shark’s fin slices through the water.

After a while they began to disperse. Sue saw Rose and a couple of other children running around and dodging between the gravestones. She wondered why Kent didn’t stop her. Didn’t she understand what was happening?

Perhaps she did understand. Perhaps that was _why_ he didn’t stop her.

Sue realised that the children were getting closer. Close enough to see the car. She started the engine. Kent turned towards the children. She didn’t hear him call but she did see Rose pull up short. Her little face fell into a mix of upset and stubbornness before she reluctantly looked back at him.

Sue smiled slightly as she pulled away. There was something in that look that felt more encouraging than compliance or obedience. The little girl who seemed scared of the world had a spine. Good.

Halfway home, Sue had to pull up the car at the side of the road. She cried for several minutes without knowing why. She had no rational reason for the ball of misery in her chest.

When she finished, she wiped her eyes and dried her face. The notification light on her cell was flashing. She frowned as she turned on the screen and checked her message.

_Kent – Saw you earlier. You left before I could talk to you. May I call you later?_

She stared at the words. What was there to be gained from talking to him? He’d betrayed her. He’d betrayed his wife. His wife couldn’t have forgiven him, and Sue shouldn’t have forgiven him.

Her divorce had been brutal, but she had the compensation of hating her husband for his choices and his behaviour. He hadn’t slipped away by inches. He had thrown their marriage away; it hadn’t been stolen from both of them. Sue had the opportunity to leave and she took it. She wasn’t sure what choices Kent had. He had loved Violet. She was sure of that. He still loved the memory of the woman she used to be.

She replied to the text and drove home.

***

It wasn’t what she expected. She supposed that shouldn’t be a surprise. The last time that she had been to his home he had been a single man with full rein to indulge his passion for boats, bikes, and quite possibly other modes of transport beginning with the letter B. Bobsled perhaps.

This was not the home of a single man. This was a family home. Rose was tiny but her stamp upon the house was huge. Sue looked at her photographs on the walls and the large doll house in the living room, next to a toy chest, and smiled.

‘What?’ Kent asked.

‘You’re a proper father,’ she said.

He looked at her blankly. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Where is Rose?’

Kent pointed to the ceiling. ‘In bed. She was exhausted after the wake. Being around a lot of people takes it out of her.’

‘Yes. I know the feeling,’ Sue said. ‘You’re not going to have an issue with her biological father, are you?’

Kent shrugged. ‘I adopted her. I’m her father legally as well as morally. He’s tried to shake me down for money, but it was rather pathetic.’

‘Good.’

He licked his lips. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘It was wrong.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Sue said. ‘Do you think that your wife would have understood?’

He was quiet for a few seconds. ‘However honestly I answer that it’s still going to sound self-serving,’ he said. ‘No, probably not. I'm not going to use her as an excuse on top of everything else.’

Sue nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘Now what?’

She clasped her hands together. ‘Now we have a rational and mature conversation like adults about whether you and I have any kind of a future.’

Kent bit his lip. ‘And Rose,’ he said quietly.

Sue rolled her eyes. ‘You _just_ said that Rose is your daughter legally and morally. Obviously, Rose is included with you. Don’t be ridiculous.’

***

Epilogue

‘My hair looks funny,’ Rose said.

Sue knelt down. Kent did his best but natural hair was still something with which he struggled.

‘Turn around,’ Sue said. ‘I need to do this braid again.’

Rose turned around obediently. Sue took the moment to surreptitiously pat Rose’s pockets. She had learned to her cost that a “quiet child” was not in fact necessarily the same thing as a “well-behaved child” or even a “child who did not put frogs in her pockets.” On one particularly memorable occasion Sue had found three conkers, a fistful of dead leaves, and a mouse inside Rose’s backpack.

‘There,’ she said, putting the braid in place. ‘Now, do you remember what you have to do?’

Rose considered it. ‘Walk down the middle holding a pillow.’

‘Very good. What will be on the pillow?’

‘Flowers?’

‘Rings,’ Sue said. ‘It’s very important not to drop them.’

Rose’s face screwed up in thought. ‘I don’t have any rings. Daddy doesn’t let me have them. He says I put things in my mouth.’

‘These will be in a box. I’ll give you them right before you walk down the aisle. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

Sue straightened her dress. ‘Don’t take them out of the box and don’t try to eat them. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ Rose sighed as if this was all very unfair.

Sue was unsure if it was unfair to suggest that she might try to eat them or unfair that she wasn’t allowed to do it. She had been remarkably patient about the dress, the shoes, and yes, her hair. The dress had been expensive, despite Kent’s assurance that it was unlikely to survive to the end of the day. There were only a few children invited to the meal afterwards and Rose had been allowed to choose what she wanted to eat. Sue had initially been pleasantly surprised that she asked for lasagne, until Kent pointed out that a good amount of the bechamel sauce was all but guaranteed to end up adorning Rose’s new pink satin dress. Probably some mincemeat as well.

Still, it wasn’t as if Rose was likely to need to use the dress again. Certainly not before she outgrew it. It was quite baffling how she seemed to be forever outgrowing clothing but hardly seemed taller. She had to _be_ taller, Sue knew, but after outgrowing the third coat in six months, she should have been at least two feet taller.

Sue checked her makeup in the car. There were going to be photographs. It was important to look _perfect_. She would never hear the end of it if she didn’t.

‘You look pretty,’ Rose said. She was playing with her tablet.

‘Thank you.’

‘What time do you want to leave?’ Kent asked.

‘Is eight too late?’ she asked.

He glanced back at Rose. ‘We’ll see if she’s cranky.’

They were a few minutes early. That was fine. Far better than the alternative.

‘Do you know where you’re going?’ Kent asked.

Sue straightened his tie. ‘Certainly. I was paying attention during the rehearsal.’

‘Were you? The president called you twice.’

Sue pulled a face. ‘She’s sulking that she isn’t invited.’

Kent shook his head. ‘Why would she be?’

‘Why do you expect her to be rational?’ Sue asked tartly. She took Rose by the hand. ‘Come along. We’ll see daddy in a few minutes.’

Rose wrinkled up her nose. ‘Are you going to do boy stuff?’

‘Believe me, I would much rather come with you,’ he said dryly. ‘I have no idea why I’ve been roped into this.’

‘A complete lack of other options,’ Sue said. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘We’ll see you in there.’

‘Assuming nobody gets cold feet,’ he said.

‘Don’t even joke about that. Do you know how expensive this dress was?’

***

There was always a sense of barely restrained panic with Amy. Now even the gossamer thin restraint seemed to have evaporated. She paced back and forth wringing her hands.

‘What’s wrong?’ Rose whispered.

‘I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing!’ Amy wailed.

‘ _Language_ ,’ Sue snapped.

Rose gave her quite the _oldest_ look that she’d ever seen. ‘I know that’s a grownup word. My old daddy used to say it.’

‘Oh great, the kid compared me to a child abuser,’ Amy muttered as she paced the room.

‘Rose, sit down please and play with your tablet,’ Sue said, kissing her forehead. ‘Amy, stop being hysterical. You are getting married. You want to get married. You have been utterly intolerable these past five months about how much you wanted to get married.’

Amy was momentarily too irritated to be flustered. ‘I have not.’

‘You have too. Now, stop being ridiculous, put on your proper shoes, and get married.’

Amy looked down. ‘These are my shoes.’

‘Oh.’

‘What’s wrong with them?’ she demanded.

Sue pursed her lips. ‘They’re hideous. Is Bill a foot fetishist?’

Amy waved a hand at Rose. ‘And I got yelled at for saying fuck?’

‘It’s not the same and she’s completely distracted.’

‘No, I’m not,’ Rose said helpfully.

Amy smirked. ‘And no. He’s not.’

‘Then he won’t notice your dreadful shoes,’ Sue said. ‘So, stop stalling and get married.’

Amy scowled as they lined up by the door. Rose was holding the pillow very carefully.

‘I can’t wait for you to get married,’ Amy said.

‘I’ve been married,’ Sue pointed out. ‘I’m in no rush to remarry.’

Amy snorted. ‘Yeah, right.’

The doors swung open. Sue looked at Rose as she put the ring box on the cushion and then down to the front. Her gaze skipped over Bill entirely but settled on Kent, watching them with a gentle smile on his face.

No rush didn’t mean no, and it didn’t mean never.

The End


End file.
